Arkham Romances
by neatgraves
Summary: The first in a new series of installments, featuring the adorable Gotham villains we all know and love!
"Jerome?"

I knocked on the door, although I had no cause to stand on occasion. He didn't either, apparently — there was no answer. Just a muffled giggle.

His dark green eyes were on me intently as I entered the room.

He was sitting on his cot, curled up into a ball, rocking in time to his soft, manic laughter. He stood as I walked into the room, closed the door behind me quickly, in case he would think to escape. I knew he wouldn't.

"Hi, gorgeous." He said to me, but his eyes were bleak. Like he didn't believe what he was saying.

"Hi." I said guardedly. My eyes were wary, but not with worry for my own well-being. Worry for him. His eyes...the only word my mind was supplying was _haunted_.

I realized there were no guards in or outside the room, just a small camera trained on us near the door.

Didn't they think he was dangerous?

Something was wrong. With _him_.

My eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawn. "Jerome? What's wrong? Why isn't anyone watching you?"

"You think there's something wrong with me? In an asylum?" Jerome chuckled, but again there was that blank look, again that odd tinge of _something_ in his voice.

There was an uncomfortable silence between us before Jerome spoke, shattering the odd calm.

"Do you remember the circus?" He asked, voice quiet. He gave a chuckle.

"Jerome…" the ginger went and stood in front of his stained, off-white cot, facing me. His eyes faced the floor, though. His right leg was shaking.

 _His right leg shook all the time at the carnival. Until he killed…_

 _Something is wrong._

 _Something is upsetting him,_ I realized.

"What is it, Jerome?"

Jerome stopped rocking, suddenly became animated, eyes jumping to life, making me twitch in surprise. He paced back and forth.

"It's just _something,_ ya know? There's no _fun_ in here. I'm _freaking out!"_

He stopped talking but kept pacing, eyes darting back and forth.

"Jerome —"

"There's no _creativity!"_ He yelled. The camera on the wall turned lazily towards him. "There's _nothing!"_ He took a hitched breath and started to chuckle, slippered feet stilling. He doubled over, choking himself on laughter.

 _This isn't right,_ I knew. A sick feeling welled up in my chest. This wasn't Jerome. Something was wrong. _Very_ wrong.

"Jerome _stop!"_ I used _the_ voice, the stagehand voice. The voice that got people to jump in the carnival. The tone that kept the performers in check. Jerome's head snapped up; some things never change. His green-ringed pupils were dilated like crazy.

"I don't feel good." He whispered, barely audible. His eyes were glassy, dissociated.

 _I didn't want to love you again, Valeska._

I stepped towards him in one motion, not letting myself think about what I was doing.

I hugged him.

He was skinny — his bones dug into my own emaciated frame and to my utter astonishment, his rigid body melted under my arms and he started _crying,_ big, fat tears preempted by shaking, silent sobs. His paper-white face showed no madness in it when I pulled him away from me. His green eyes were wet, and glistening, and his unusually pink cheeks were blotchy and streaked with tears. He looked so sad — so depressed that I could hardly believe he was thought mad. I couldn't believe it. I stepped back and he stood there, alone, unable to stop the tears were still flowing unstemmed.

So I stepped closer.

I stepped closer and wrapped him in my arms again, cherishing the feeling of his trembling, orange-clad arms on my back. I ran my fingers through his ginger hair, and it came to my attention that this seemed to calm him and so I did it again, running my fingers through and tangling them into the orange knots. Next time I visited I'd have to brush his hair, I thought.

Both of our bodies jerked as he hiccupped against me, chest tightening, body convulsing. I rubbed circles on his back lightly, gently, and pushed him imperceptibly back so we were sitting on the threadbare, yellow cot. I rocked him back and forth, hearing every hitch in his breath, every sigh and hiccup, until his breathing calmed and I whispered to him the words I dreaded.

"I have to go." I stood up and looked down at the pitiful, lanky redhead wiping snot from his nose.

"Okay." He said brokenly.

"I'll be back. I swear."


End file.
